The Man His Father Was
by Doors
Summary: Lucius is used to seeing his father as stiff and smiling falsely. He has no idea what sort of man he really is.


**Title**: The Man His Father Was  
**Word count**: ~800  
**Prompt:** broomstick, "Malfoys do not cry"  
**Notes:** Written for the minor character boot camp (Abraxas Malfoy) and the Ultimate Death Eater Contest (Round one, focusing on Lucius Malfoy).

* * *

Lucius was not used to much affection from his father. He was not used to any affection from him at all. In fact, he was not used to contact with his father outside of the 'family' dinners that Abraxas managed to make it to, and public events.

Of course, appearing in public, Abraxas would rest his hand on Lucius' shoulder and squeeze reassuringly – as if to let the world know how proud he was of his son. He would smile at the other witches and wizards – the Blacks, the Notts, the Lestranges, and Lucius, naturally, would do the same. It was what he had been brought up to know, and it had never occurred to him to do anything otherwise.

It wasn't until he was a little older – perhaps seven, or eight – that he began to get irritated at having to smile at these people all the time. Not one of them (save possibly for Cygnus Black's youngest daughter, Narcissa) was smiling genuinely. Lucius, certainly, was only forcing his face muscles into that position because that's what he'd been doing ever since he was old enough to walk and wear dress robes. He began to get itchy feet at these parties, to wander off, to try and strike up a conversation with the serving house elves.

(Oh, he knew that was wrong, of course – Pureblooded wizards like the Malfoys, and, indeed, any self respecting wizard at all – oughtn't to exchange words with such foul creatures, but aged only eight, Lucius had a curiosity about them that went beyond abusing them.)

Growing up, Lucius hadn't really known what sort of man his father was. He rarely saw him, and when he did, he was stiff and smiling, and when Lucius got older, he began to understand that there was no-one _really_ like that. But he didn't realise just what kind of man his father was until Abraxas caught him in the scullery of the Lestranges' manor.

He and Rabastan had been attempting to set fire to the chair in the corner. They had the reluctant assistance of a house elf, whom Rabastan had demanded steal his own mother's wand for them. Lucius had felt delightfully mischievous, but he had had some misgivings that he tried to quash when Rabastan insisted the house elf stayed with them and showed them how to work it. The house elf – Toddy, it said its name was – certainly hadn't been keen on the idea, but Rabastan was adamant, and Lucius knew (from the experience of having been smacked full in the face with the handle of a toy broomstick, the bruises of which still stung in his imagination, sometimes) just how nasty Rabastan could become when he didn't get his way. So, he agreed that the house elf should stay – which, as it transpired, was the only reason that Abraxas had ever had to visit a scullery.

The adults, Lucius imagined, must have been upstairs, talking about their relations or politics or something, when they realised they were out of wine – or goat's cheese, or something – and called on Toddy to fetch more of it for them. Of course, Toddy, being held at Rabastan's mercy, was unable to answer the call – and Lucius was shocked indeed to look up from his pointing the wand at the wooden leg of the chair to find his father scowling down at him.

Lucius didn't often see his father scowl. His father was not usually around when Lucius misbehaved.

Abraxas snatched his son up by the collar of his dress robes, and before Lucius could stutter an apology or some up with an excuse for what he was doing (most of the ideas swimming around his head had a lot to do with blaming it on Rabastan), Abraxas smacked his son across the face with the back of his hand.

It hurt a hell of a lot more than the toy broomstick, swung by Rabastan's five year old arms, ever had, and Lucius was stunned for a moment. All he was aware of was his father's face, brows drown, mouth contorted horribly, and a stinging sensation blotting out all other feeling in one side of his face.

"What is the meaning of _this_?" snarled Abraxas. "If the Lestranges find it acceptable for their eldest son to act like a Muggle vandal in their own house I will have nothing to do with the matter, but _you_—Malfoys do not behave in such a despicable manner, d'you hear?"

And then, Rabastan watching tentatively from the corner, the pain hit Lucius. He felt his face go red, burning, and tears springing to his eyes. Mucus clogged his nose, and all he could do was splutter incoherent fragments of his apology.

"And Malfoys," said Abraxas, looking at his snivelling son with an expression of great disdain, "do not cry."

He turned and left the scullery, and Lucius knew then what sort of man his father was.


End file.
